


Revelations

by athenasdragon



Category: Forever (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Christmas, Forever Holiday Exchange 2015-2016, Friendship, Gen, Henry dies, Henry returns, Holiday Fic Exchange, Light Angst, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Victorian, can be read as shippy, slight AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-28
Updated: 2015-12-28
Packaged: 2018-05-09 22:55:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5558669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/athenasdragon/pseuds/athenasdragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Henry feels like he should tell James his secret, he’s working up the courage but something forces him to.</p>
<p>This fic is slightly AU and covers James's diagnosis and Henry's reveal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Revelations

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dk323](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dk323/gifts).



> Happy Holidays! I hope you enjoy. :) I tried to write this so that it could be read as Henry/James or just friendship, but it definitely leans more on the friendship side.

It was Christmas.

Funny, how that simple phrase can conjure so much to mind. Even after his unusually long life, it still meant the same thing to Henry: warmth despite the snow, candlelight against the darkness, food and friends and family.

The New York of 1870 didn’t quite live up to his expectations. The hospital held little warmth against the bitterly cold rain which hadn’t even the courtesy to turn to snow. Gas lamps cast wavering shadows across the rows of narrow beds. The nurses did all they could, constantly boiling water for the basins and hot bottles to be placed by the patients’ feet, but it was little help. The only positive was that the hordes of flies which had plagued them all summer finally seemed to be gone.

Their biggest battle was against consumption. Despite the highest precautionary measures, there seemed no way to prevent it from sweeping from ward to ward, and, indeed, across the city.

Henry almost wondered why he kept his cramped flat. It was bare and unwelcoming and faced a cluster of towering, cramped tenements—a constant reminder of the living conditions which made his own job so difficult. More often than not he stole a few hours’ rest on the hard cot in his office so that he was available when needed. Despite the unavoidable wretched coughing and the stench of disinfectant, he slept better when he knew he was close at hand should something happen.

James may have had something to do with it, too. Whenever Henry began to waver after an interminable shift, James was there to guide him to bed with assurances that he would remain on duty until Henry awoke. He invariably kept his promise.

That’s why it was so strange when Henry blinked his eyes open on Christmas morning and couldn’t find James anywhere.

Beds stretched down the ward, the bodies they contained rendered indistinct by the grimy grey light which trickled through the high windows. A nurse pulled a sheet over one rigid figure. Candlelight gleamed dully from the desk against the far wall: another poor physician stuck on duty on Christmas.

Henry strode down the line of beds and saw that it was Dr. Doyle. His lead lolled against the wall where he had fallen asleep, no doubt after tending to the patient who had passed.

“Doctor!”

He started upright, hastily wiping the drool from his chin. “Dr. Morgan. I didn’t realize you were still here.”

“Well, I don’t have much family to go home to. I thought I could do more here.” Doyle smiled sympathetically. “Have you seen Dr. Carter?”

“He just left. He looked a little distressed, if I’m honest. Do you know if anything’s wrong?”

Henry furrowed his brow. James had been quiet lately, but he hadn’t confided anything. Maybe Henry should have asked. Maybe he had been too focused on work to read his friend. “No. If you’re all right here for a few minutes, I’ll go see if I can find him.”

Doyle waved him past, already stifling a yawn. “Things are slow today. I’ll do the rounds until you get back.”

\----------------------------------------

It took Henry the better part of an hour to find James. He went first to his flat, a simple, clean set of rooms only marginally larger than his own. There was no sign of him. The bed had not been slept in.  He wasn’t at any of their usual haunts, either. It wasn’t until he was circling back to the hospital that he thought to look into a few nearby pubs.

On his third guess, he found him.

James was slumped over a bar sticky with spilled beer and other things that didn’t bear thinking about. Given the hour and the holiday, the lanky Irish proprietor looked justifiably annoyed. He rounded on Henry as he came in. “Look mate, I wasn’t even going to open today. This one won’t leave, I can’t have anyone else coming in.”

“My apologies. I know this man. I’ll take him and leave.”

James sighed deeply and spoke for the first time. “Don’t talk about me like I’m not right here.”

“’S he had some bad news or something?” The barkeep jerked his thumb at the young doctor.

“I don’t know.”

“All right, all right!” Henry hurried to his friend’s side as James slid off his barstool. “I’m coming.”

There was something to be read in his pallor, Henry knew, but he was too worried to identify it—until James stopped to cough, long and wet, into the sleeve of his shirt.

“That doesn’t sound good,” the proprietor supplied helpfully.

Then the door was swinging shut behind them and they were back out on the street. It was snowing, now: great grey clumps interspersed with spitting rain. Henry’s heart was hammering. He didn’t want to jump to conclusions, but the pieces all fit.

James was paler than usual and coughing. He was distraught over something. His first action had been to leave the hospital after whatever news he had received.

“Don’t.” James interrupted Henry’s train of thought before he could voice his deduction. “I know you’ve figured it out, and I don’t want to talk about it.”

“James, consumption isn’t necessarily a death sentence! There are things we can try…” He trailed off as James pushed past him, hands in pockets, to stride down the street. “James?”

“I’m going home.”

Thick anxiety coiled in Henry’s chest. “Please, come back. I want to do something.”

“There’s nothing to be done.”

Henry couldn’t bear to see his friend so upset. It was so different from his usual indefatigable cheer that it felt like some fundamental aspect of the universe had shifted. For this reason, against his better judgment, he followed.

He felt the approaching carriage before he saw it. The cobbles beneath his feet thrummed with the enormous weight, the sharp strikes of the horses’ hooves.

“James!”

“I asked you to leave me alone, Henry.”

“No, it’s not that—”

The carriage careened into view, going faster than anyone had a right to go. James was directly in its path. Rather than diving to the side, he froze, whether out of fear or some morbid hopelessness Henry didn’t know, but the horses were foaming at the mouth and moving much too quickly to stop, their shoes nearly throwing sparks as the driver pulled at the reins in an attempt to change course—

Henry dashed forward and threw James into the narrow gutter, but it was too late to dodge out of the way. Something large and hard collided with his shoulder and everything faded to darkness.

\----------------------------------------

Hours later Henry was a little less wet and cold and a little more decent to be seen in public. He slipped out of his flat, determined to find James and explain what must have been a traumatizing experience.

On a hunch, he wound his way back to the pub where he had found James earlier. Dusk had fallen while he was getting dressed. It was well and truly snowing now, and in the light from the streetlamps, the flakes almost looked white.

Henry had no idea what he was going to say. He had known James for years now and they were good friends. Still, there are some things you just don’t talk about, even with those closest to you.

It wasn’t that Henry was deliberately keeping his immortality from James—indeed, he wanted more than anything to tell him. He trusted James with his life.

He had trusted Nora, too. And look where that got him.

James was a rational sort of man. It would only make sense for a doctor to turn to some kind of illness as the source of Henry’s “delusion,” and the last thing he wanted was to be locked up again. But James had seen him get hit by the carriage. He had probably seen his body disappear. There was nothing for it.

As he turned the corner near the pub, Henry’s heart sank. The lights were dark. As he approached, though, he was able to make out the dark figure slumped in the threshold. A dusting of snow highlighted the folds in his clothing.

“James!” The figure sluggishly moved to an upright position. “James, you’ll catch your—” He bit off the sentence before he could put his foot in his mouth.

James chuckled darkly but staggered to his feet. “Look who’s back from the dead. If I’m already hallucinating, it’s a little late for the warning.”

Hot tears welled behind Henry’s eyes. “Come on, James. Let’s get you back to your place to warm up. I have… a long story to tell you.” There was no response from his friend, but he didn’t resist when Henry put an arm around his shoulders and pulled him down the street.

\----------------------------------------

“One hundred years.”

“Approximately.”

James took a long draught from his cup. Henry had mixed them both something hot and fortifying before sitting down to begin his tale, though with each cup he made it became a bit stiffer.

He had forgotten how nerve-wracking it was, this soul-baring ritual of revealing his deepest secrets. It had been so long. There was so much to tell. It had taken him most of an hour.

Now, they reclined in silence before the small stove in the corner of James’s living room. The urge to tap his fingers or twitch his leg was becoming almost overwhelming for Henry as he waited to see what the response would be.

“I believe you.”

Relief washed through Henry as he finally relaxed into his chair.

“You do?”

“I certainly don’t think you’re delusional. God knows I’ve seen some pretty strange things in my life; is this really so far a stretch?” He laughed a little, though the noise was a shadow of what it would have been just days previously. “My own problems seem so insignificant now.”

“I wanted to talk to you about that.” Henry drained the dregs of his third—fourth?—drink and leaned forward, determined. “There are things that we can do. I’ve read about treatments they’re testing in Europe, all sorts of things, and we can start with the most non-invasive ones. Maybe some herbal remedies. Some of the oldest medicines work best, you know.”

“Henry.”

“Yes?”

James’s eyes were full of emotion though his mouth struggled to form words. Henry could see gratitude there, but something like despair, too. Resignation? After a moment a wall went up and he could no longer read his friend’s expression. James reached over to put a hand on Henry’s arm. “I’d like that. Thank you.”

“Of course.”

“And Henry? Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, James.”


End file.
